


Traitor or Second in Command?

by Branwen_Merla



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Battle, Betrayal, Choices, Confusion, Dreams and Nightmares, Elvhen, Guards, Hunters & Hunting, Love Triangles, Magic, Memories, Other, Past Lives, Poison, Repressed Memories, commander - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 00:08:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16074242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branwen_Merla/pseuds/Branwen_Merla
Summary: Vivid reoccurring dreams of battlefields and centuries past plague John's and Bellamy's sleep state, but are they just nightmares or visions of a past life? Hopefully, the mysterious stranger that appeared in the storm can shed some light on this situation... or will her arrival cause more tension between the boys than there is thus far, and make the matter worse?





	1. A Gift(?) From The Heavens

**Author's Note:**

> Found this on my laptop, may complete as I like where it was going... however, I don't actually remember WHERE it was going. Stupid writers block.
> 
> *note* I get all inspiration from my dreams - however lately (especially since needing to move hanging over our heads beginning of the year) nothing has been happening, inspiration and dream-wise. Don't you just hate when that happens?

Fire rains from the sky as warhorses gallop across the plains. They are at war with each other, a traitor in their midst. The commander by his side lets out a war cry as they cut people down, left and right. He feels the shift in air seconds before the arrow is visible. It whizzes past the ear of the commander, but they are too busy fighting off the horde to realise they are being target by an unknown shooter. Scanning the trees, he spies the brief glimmer of an arrow head, before the air shifts once more. He leaps forward, his one goal is to protect the one most important to him. He feels the burning sensation spread throughout his chest, as crimson liquid begins to drip down his armoured torso. As if in slow motion, his commander looks up confused by the sudden embrace in battle. The royal purple ringed emerald eyes behind the mask widen visibly as the slightly pointed pupils dart to the liquid spilling from his mouth. Time seems to speed up once more as he collapses, the arms of his commander trying to hold him up and steady. Knowing it is no use, they lower him to the ground. The commander removes their own mask, peering into the eyes of the injured. Her feminine features tighten and her eyes narrow in boiled anger as they are engulfed in black. Her unbridled rage courses throughout her body as she stands, readying her weapons.

He has successfully managed to protect her from the incoming projectile, so he thinks. A high pitch whistling noise breaks his sacrificial rejoice, as he sees his commander stagger, an arrow sticking out of her stomach. Her weapons fall to the floor, yet she does not. Her eyes are wide and now clear, tears falling as she whispers her final word, full of hurt and betrayal.

_“Vhenan?”_

Then an arrow pierces her heart.

 

The young man bolts upright, his black hair matted to his head with sweat. He sighed with relief as he glanced around the room. It was another one of those dreams. They had stopped since he had been on the ground with the others, so why were they starting again? And why did they always feel so real? He sighed once more as he raked his hand through his damp hair, listening to the gale howling outside. Everyone was taking refuge inside of the crashed ship, but how do Grounders weather this type of storm? He shook his head. He didn’t really care, just mild curiousity.

 

Shouting from outside awoke him, he must’ve fallen asleep at some point. Dressing and grabbing his rifle, he steps out into the hall and is greeted by guardsmen taking a seemingly unconscious prisoner to the makeshift cell. Feminine legs dangling out from under the torn, muddied, and slightly burnt black hooded cloak. Curious, he goes to follow but is stopped by a woman. He nods at her.

“Chancellor.”

“Bellamy, wait.” The woman leans in close and lowers her voice, “She was found inside our camp after the storm, I need you to tell me if she’s a Grounder.”

“Couldn’t you tell?”

The chancellor pauses then motions for him to follow.

“See for yourself.”

They enter the cell just as the guard carrying the figure places them down on the floor. Grasping the pale hands, he binds them and the muddy feet together with a zip tie.

“And the feet?” Bellamy asks with uncertainty, no one else comments.

A guardsman pulls back the hood obscuring her face. All in the room exchange looks. The strangers eyes, bottom lip, and chin are blackened by tribal paint. The long onyx hair in a high ponytail with some braiding. A silver circlet adorns her head. She looks like a warrior, a Grounder, however… something is off.  Is it the clothing, or the one large teardrop ruby coupled by the two small emeralds either side that decorated the circlet? Grounders never have this type of jewellery, even the commanders.

“What do you think?” The Chancellor asked.

“I’m… not sure.”

The guardsman began to check for weapons. His hand slid up her thigh, under the cloak.

“Hey!” Bellamy shouted, before he was interrupted by the guardsman’s shriek. He flung something against the wall, before gripping his wrist. His hand bubbling, burning, and ulcerating just by the mere touch of the instrument. The Chancellor rushes to treat the man, while Bellamy inspects what caused the wound. An ornate silver engraved dagger rests on the stone. The stone itself seems to steam under the knife, warning everyone to stay away. There was something familiar about the weapon, but as he didn’t know what it was, he ignored the nagging feeling.

“Tell no one to touch this!”

“You want us to leave a weapon in the same cell as the prisoner?”

“No one will be able to remove it anyway.”

There is a pause as the Chancellor thinks.

“Okay. I want constant surveillance of this cell. Bellamy, you’re on first guard duty.”

“Got it.”

 

Night falls and day breaks. Nothing is amiss. The day passes just as quick, the camp is running out of food and will need to hunt, soon.


	2. Trust Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you spout trust, follow through.

Fire rains from the sky as warhorses gallop across the plains. They are coming for him, as it was he who started this war. Among the chaos of battle, one lone archer sits aloft a branch, sniping at those that get in range, his target not yet close enough. He knows he is blinded, his judgement clouded by whatever poison runs in his veins, yet he cannot stop himself from doing this most evil deed. A battle cry is heard, louder than the rest, he knows it is his target – the commander. He sees the raven black hair swing with each twirl of her warlike dance, cutting down the thralls that were once her people. He blinks slowly, notching the arrow with little to no hesitation. He fires once… miss. He loads yet another and pulls the string back. Closing one eye, he aims. He knows this one will hit the target. The bowstring quivers as it is released once more. There is brief relief as he hears the thunk of arrow meeting armour, as he knows it is not her. That relief is instantly replaced by the numbness of the poison once more as he sees her stand in irrational ire. Her hands grip her weapons tightly as her black eyes bore into the trees. He lets loose another arrow as he jumps from the treetop. She staggers but does not fall. Exiting the underbrush the black eyes clear to a look of confusion. Her royal purple ringed emerald eyes glimmer in sadness as tears begin gather at the corners. He pulls the bowstring back once more.

_“Vhenan?”_

The arrow entered her chest with a sickening thwack. She fell to her knees on the bloodied, trampled ground. The shooter approached her with a steady stride. He crouched next to her and caressed her hair, feeling the last ounce of humanity leave him.

“Irabelas [I am sorry].”

A gasping wheeze echoed into his eardrum from the head lowered in front of him. She was laughing. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have blood trickle out from between his teeth.

“ _N’abelas mah’in [Your sorrow is mine].”_

His eyes lowered to see her blood-soaked hand grasping the hilt of a dagger, plunged into his ribcage and into his heart.

 

The boy jolted awake. 

“What the heck was that?” he asked himself as he rubbed his chest. It burned, as if he was the one who had received the wound. Strangely enough, they had entrusted him with guard duty that rotation. Perhaps it was because he had fought Grounders before? He peered into her cell. She didn’t feel like a Grounder. They usually emanate more of a bloodlust aura. Well, the ones they had met thus far had. Deep in thought, whilst keeping an eye on the prisoner, he didn’t notice the lack of bodily noises… until it began.

 A soothing siren song echoed into the minds of all those in camp and on the ground. It was haunting and beautiful. Those that slumbered smiled peacefully in their sleep, hope awaiting the beginning of a new day.   

 

 

The following morning was bright and cheerful. The morale of those in camp had been lifted significantly as they chatted excitedly with one another, about the song they had heard that chased away the nightmares, and the dreams of their families and friends that followed.

A small group consisting of the chancellor, Bellamy, and the one who was on guard that night, cluster near the entrance to the ship, watching the happy, smiling people.

“Do you think it was her?”

“That is a possibility… but the song we heard was in our minds, not in the air.”

“Murphy, you were on watch last night, did you notice anything?”

“There is something.”

“Show us.”

 

Entering the ship, it feels different than before. The closer they get to the makeshift cell, the lower the temperature.

“She hasn’t moved for two days, but check this out…”

They opened the door to see vines engulfing the wall, purple flowers sprouting and slowly unfurling. The prisoner was unbound, calmly sitting crossed legged on the floor, eyes closed as if meditating. The dagger still in the position it was left, on its side, near the wall. No attempt was ever made to grab it.

“Amazing…” The Chancellor eyes wander across the room. “These flowers are Atropis Belladonna… they don’t grow on vines.”

“Belladonna? As in, the poison?”

The Chancellor nods.

The three stand in the room, door closing behind them. Bellamy and Murphy aim their guns as the Chancellor approaches the prisoner.

“Abby, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I need to make sure she is alright. She was found in a storm and was refused medical treatment, and now the room is cold.”

“Plus…” Murphy adds, the only person noticing the knife is no longer there, “I’m pretty sure she would’ve killed us by now, if she wanted to.”

Abby glances at Bellamy glaring at Murphy, as she swallows in slight fear. Tentatively she reaches her hand out as she kneels by the strangers side, aiming for the neck to search for a pulse. Feeling Abby’s touch, the strangers eyes snap open, causing the Chancellor to scoot backward.

Abby hears the sound of guns fumbling from behind her, as she notices the eyes aren’t focused on her, but on the boys. They weren’t aiming their rifles… they were trying not to _drop_ them.

“Boys, what’s wrong?” Abby asks, without taking her eyes off the stranger.

They were startled. They had both seen those royal purple ringed, emerald eyes before. But only in their dreams.

“Nothing, nothing is wrong.” Bellamy croaks, voice breaking slightly as he levels his gun once more.

The stranger tilts her head and her eyes narrow slightly. The boys’ movement and fluster did not go unnoticed. The stranger eyes them up and down, and studies those in the room. Seemingly satisfied, she stands with grace, uncrossing her legs and standing with ease. Padding silently toward the door, she stops at the Chancellor still on the floor, and offers her a hand.

Bellamy readies his gun with a click.

“Wait!” Abby grasps the outstretched hand and is pulled to her feet. Now almost face to face, Abby addresses the woman. “Thank you. Do you have a name?”

“Ofcourse she has a name.” Murphy butts in.

“Shut up Murphy.” Bellamy retorts.

The woman blinks.

“Do you understand us?” Abby tries once more.

Silence.

The three huddle together as they have a hushed conversation.

“What do we do with her now?”

“Keep her in the cell maybe?”

They turn their heads once more to look at the girl, whom is now stroking the petals of one of the purple flowers.

“I think we can trust her.”

Feeling eyes on her, she approaches them and holds out three small vials of colourless liquid. Bellamy, Murphy, and Abby are confused.

The stranger points to her mouth, and offers the first vial to Bellamy.

“I think she wants you to drink it.”

Bellamy reaches to take the small bottle, but hesitates.

“For someone spouting trusting words, you’re a coward.” Murphy swipes the bottle before anyone could react and downs it in one gulp. His eyes widen slightly then he smacks his lips. “Not bad.”

Abby is the next to grab a small vial. She uncorks it and sniffs. “It’s fruity.” She takes a sip. “Cool, refreshing, and sweet.”

Bellamy reaches toward the open palm of the stranger for the last vial. Before he could grasp it, she curls her fingers and squeezes until a tinkle could be heard and the liquid could be seen trickling from her fist.

“Oooh she’s angry at you.” Murphy laughs.

Abby breaks the tension that is slowly spreading throughout the room. “Now that you see that we trust you, trust us and let me look at you. I need to check to see if you are okay. You could have hypothermia or pneumonia.”

“Abby, she doesn’t understand you.” Bellamy interjects.

“Maybe not…” Abby replies as she feels a cold hand slide into hers, “but she now trusts us.”


	3. Unanswered Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party at nightfall had everyone in high spirits, all except Bellamy. Is the constant distrust warranted? Or is it just an awkward cover for a different feeling? A question posed to the stranger will have an interesting reaction.

“So, they finally let you out, huh?”

Murphy asks as the stranger silently sits across from him.

“It’s probably best for you not to sit with me. As you can tell, the rest of the camp hates me.”

The stranger tilts her head.

Murphy sighs as he looks down to his hand around the metallic cup.

“Right, you don’t speak english… well, I killed a few people. And I would’ve killed more if I didn’t get caught.”

The sudden movement from across the table caused him to look up. The stranger stood abruptly, seemingly making her move to leave. He laughed to himself self-deprecatingly, but was surprised to see her move her chair to next to him. She didn’t leave like he thought she would, she moved closer. Was it because she didn’t understand? Either way, she wasn’t afraid of him.

She smiled as she looked at his surprised face, the fabric on their shoulders only touching barely. Her smile only lasted a fleeting moment, before worry overtook her eyes as she pointed past him in a flurry. Whipping his head around, he saw… nothing. He heard a cough from beside him and he turned his head once more in her direction. Laughter escaped his throat as he saw the mischievous shine in her eyes as she took another gulp of the liquid from his cup. She coughed again and pulled a face, lowering the cup once more to the table.

“Good isn’t it?” He grinned, knowing she had thought little of the beverage.

She had a cheeky grin and poked out her tongue teasingly, as Murphy grasped the cup once more and took a swig.

 

Bellamy approached the two, as they shared a smile. Something didn’t sit right with him, seeing them together. He hesitated before, but he won’t now.

“Bellamy, what a surprise.” Murphy said sarcastically, hearing the young man approaching them. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Can it, Murphy.” Bellamy’s gaze shifts to the strangers. “You should be somewhere safe.”

“Back in her cell? Or do you mean, not with me?”

“This is not a game Murphy. We don’t know who she is. Get away from her.”

“You’re worried I’ll hurt your precious prisoner? She’s the one who sought me out, not the other way round.”

“And why would she do that?”

“It’s because I acted on your so called trust, when you hesitated.”

Bellamy grips Murphy by his collar in anger. Murphy just smirks, knowing he is right.

_Actually… it’s because I find you humorous._

The harmonic voice entered their mind, sounding like a gentle summer breeze whispering through the trees.

Did they hear what they thought they did? Startled, Bellamy lets go of Murphy as they both turn to stare bewildered at the shining eyes of the stranger. Her lips open to produce sound just above a whisper, clearly only allowing those two to hear her.

_Apologies, it has taken more time than I thought to master your language. I am Branwen Merla, although I have been known to carry many names. I assume that woman was your Commander? I wish to see her._

“And if we refuse?”

_You will not._

_Andaran atish’an, Asha Hahren. Although I seem to find myself as a prisoner of war, I see you are in dire need of supplies to feed your clan. I offer my services and expertise, in exchange for my freedom to go where ever I so please, inclusive of outside the camp._

“You are no prisoner."

_Am I not?  Is it not your tribe who bound me and locked me in a cell? Even now I cannot leave the compound._

"We worry for your safety."

  _Do you now?_

"We do. Although you seem unharmed, you did only arrive not long ago. You may have an internal wound that we cannot see. However, if it is your wish, you may leave but with an escort. Bellamy and Murphy will go with you.”

_That is most unwise. They will startle the prey, and I hunt best alone._

“Those are my conditions.”

Branwen sighs.

_Very well._

 

 

 

No conversations were had as they trudge through the forest, with only the full moon to guide them. Although further behind the other two, Murphy is the first to break the silence.

“How do you do that?”

_To what are you referring?_

“You’re so light on your feet, you don’t leave any footprint or make any sound. It’s like you glide across the ground. I doubt even our best tracker would be able to find you, if you decided to escape.”

Murphy senses Branwen grin and hears the humour in her charming voice.

_I have been compared to a feline on occasion._

“I can see that.”

She turns a little and throws Murphy a cheeky wink, before continuing onward. Murphy smirks and his heart flutters a little, as Bellamy scowls. He is the second to speak, ruining the somewhat playful atmosphere.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

_If you must._

“I know you don’t trust me because of what happened in the cell… but you trust Murphy? You don’t know what he has done or what he is capable of.”

_What is your question?_

Bellamy sighs with resignation, knowing that conversation will lead nowhere. So, he asks the question that has been plaguing him since the Ark. “What does Vhenan mean?”

Both Branwen and Murphy comes to a sudden halt, visibly taken aback. Branwen's eyes narrow sharply.

_Where did you learn such a word?_

 “I heard it somewhere. It doesn’t matter. So, what is it?”

_…Eluvian. It is an ancient long forgotten language of the gods and my native tongue._

“But what does that specific word mean?”

_Quiet._

“That’s not-”

In a flash, Branwen had pinned Bellamy to a nearby tree, chests touching and faces almost, her left arm against his throat as her right hand covered his mouth. Bellamy's heart thudded against his ribcage, unknowing whether it was from the spontaneity or the proximity. Murphy sneered at the sight.

_I said, quiet._

Branwen hissed, as she separated herself and easily leapt soundlessly onto an overhanging tree branch, disappearing into the vast overgrown green canopy.

“Think she’s coming back?”

“She clearly didn’t want to divulge the meaning of the word.” Bellamy states, wanting to know it even more.

“Or maybe, she just wanted you to shut your hole.”


End file.
